


thirteen ninety-one.

by reyxbway



Category: Chaos Walking - Patrick Ness
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coma, F/M, Identity Issues, Not Really Character Death, Post-Canon, They're too young for this, but he's dead if you squint, i dunno man but someone help these poor kids, identity loss?, is that something?, it's kinda hard to explain, someone help viola because she's a broken disaster, the chaos sure does walk in this one, todd's in a coma, vi might be a little ooc just a warning, viola needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyxbway/pseuds/reyxbway
Summary: that's the heartbreaking part. when she lost him, she lost herself too.
Relationships: Viola Eade/Todd Hewitt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	thirteen ninety-one.

Sometimes she still thinks of herself as a number rather than a girl. As nothing more than 1391, an identity she took on to keep her safe as she ran after him, hoping she wasn’t too late to save him. As a child who was selected to lead an army of people she had never met. Who can’t get too close to bodies of water without memories of harsh demands to share information that would endanger everyone she cared about and the feeling of being unable to breathe and the shouts of someone who cared about her echoing in her mind. A girl who committed so deeply to the wrong side of a war where there were no right sides that she almost lost everyone she cared about until she remembered that he was the only one that mattered to her. Who would do anything to save him, even kill, but was somehow still too late to protect him from those who wanted nothing more than to do him harm. A girl whose truest love died in her arms, her name falling off her lips in his last breath, who rushed him to the nearest hospital in some hope that they might be able to save him. Who watched as they tried to help him with tears in her eyes, wondering if she was going to be able to save the boy who saved her so many times.

Now she sits by his bedside, listening for any assurance that he knows she’s there. Any spark of activity in his Noise, no matter how little. And she reads his mother’s journal until her voice aches and the words rattle in her throat and the purple rings under her eyes cement themselves as a permanent part of her face, but the thought of stopping makes her heart lurch in her chest because _what if she loses him?_

So she stays, ignoring the world going on around her, blocking out all sounds except her rasping words and his trembling breath, and focuses on the one thing she knows is concrete—the silence. His silence. Filling the room with words, both his mother’s and hers just so she doesn’t have to listen to it. Letting him know every little thing about her day, even if all the hours are spent sitting by him in a chair that may as well have been a part of her body. Noting how funny it is that she’s the noisy one and he’s quiet rather than the way it used to be, hoping he cannot hear how her laugh is always one second away from a sob. She remembers how the Noise used to infuriate her, how it kept her awake the way his silence does now, and she knows she’d do anything to hear it again. She wonders if this is how he felt when they first met, when he hated how she knew everything about him and he knew nothing about her, and suddenly, she understands his anger.

  
Then one morning, there’s a whisper. A syllable of a word she hasn’t thought about since that day, so soft she wouldn’t have heard it if she didn’t know him so well. Could he really be thinking about her, using her name even in his barely living state? Was he calling out to her from some world she didn’t understand? And her heart leaps into her throat, thundering like it did the day she almost lost him. She reads with a new enthusiasm that day, her worn, husky voice echoing through the city out the window she hadn’t opened in months. Allowing other sounds into the room, hoping they might remind him how many people need him. And the people outside know something’s changed when they hear her voice for the first time since the day at the ocean. They just hope it’s for the better.

  
She falls asleep in the chair by his bed that night, not bothering to go to her own room in fear of missing something, the journal splayed open in her lap. She wakes to find a blanket around her and a warm mug of hot chocolate on the table. And she opens her mouth to say something to him, to let him know just how amazing it is that his Noise is chattering on again, and finds that her voice refuses to work no matter how hard she tries to push the words out. Tears escape her eyes as she closes the window again. That way, nobody can see her collapse on the floor, burying her face in his bedsheets as sobs come out more silent than she ever thought they could.

  
All the while, she curses herself in thoughts she’s glad nobody ever has to hear, running through the things she could have done to prevent this from happening. Never using her name.

  
Only 1391.

  
But then she hears it. Just a little louder than the previous day’s whisper, but there nonetheless. Something that makes her broken voice start working enough for her sob to catch in her throat with a hiccup.

  
_Vi…_

  
It’s little more than a murmur, but it’s enough for her to get to her feet and throw her arms around him. Her tears stain his hospital gown and promises she doesn’t have the words to say anymore race through her mind. She wishes she had Noise just for that instant, just so there’s a chance he could understand that her thoughts are full of I ain’t leaving you, not never again, a vow she intends to keep until the end of her life.

  
And she stays right there, trying to make her voice work so she can let him know just how much he means to her even when she’s not sure he remembers who she is. She reads his mother’s journal again, silently this time, but showing him the pages as she flips through them, not caring that he can’t make sense of the words when he’s fully functioning, let alone in this state.

  
The memories start the next day. Flickers at first, images of their adventures appearing for a second and disappearing before she can blink. Snatches of sentences she doesn’t remember saying replaying of their own accord. No rhyme or reason to any of it. Just as his Noise used to be. The day they met, when she was too afraid to tell him anything, even her name, until he took his anger at her out on himself and her heart reached out to him, replaced by the day she was Asked, how she crumbled into him despite thinking she’d lost him forever.

  
His voice interrupts her as she reads, almost convincing her that he’d woken up with how real it sounds, asking her if she believes there’s hope at the end of their journey. She doesn’t dare stop reading now, not when he’s so close she can almost reach out and touch him, but in her mind, she knows the truth.

  
_Yes. I do believe there’s hope. Don’t let me down._

  
And they continue for weeks. Their story retelling itself out of order as she reads, her name coming through loud and clear, the overarching theme throughout. Peppering nearly every sentence, forming a soundtrack to her reading, an orchestra playing the same three notes over and over. A barrage of her identity slams into her mind every second, reminding her of who she was. Who he still sees her as. Who she could still be, if only she could remember how.

  
The memories turn to a roar, filling every corner of the room until she has to open the window just to let some of the sound out. She can hardly hear herself speak over the tide of memory and thought, louder than when they first met if that’s possible, but comforting in a way she never would’ve imagined then. She sleeps there in her chair, letting his voice act as a lullaby. She’s more well-rested than she’s been since the ocean. The dark circles begin to fade, and she looks more like a girl than a shadow of one for the first time in months.

  
Until one morning…they stop. She wakes in a silent room, almost unable to hear even his breathing. She has to press her ear to his chest just to make sure he’s still alive. Tears bite at her eyes as she opens the book again, unwilling to let this setback stop her from fighting with all she has to get him back. Reading with a new vigor, anger she hasn’t felt since 1017 almost took him from her, when she turned his weapon back on him.

  
Then she hears it. Building in the back of his mind and rushing forward like a stampede of horses, her name bursts through the room like a gunshot. She stumbles over her words, her gaze flicking toward him before she realizes it. Her heart thunders. Nobody’s addressed her like that for so long.

  
Again it comes, commanding her attention. She closes the book and rushes to his side, sitting on the mattress next to him. Taking his hand in hers. Her breath hitches. It’s warm for the first time in months. She presses her other hand to his cheek, feeling the muscles tremble beneath her touch. Her tears return, spilling out and staining the sheets as her name sounds over and over, reminding her just who she is no matter how hard she tried to lose that part of herself. She still reads, the words rushing together like a river and blending into one, loud and clear and not sounding at all like she’d been reading for hours upon hours every day.  
Almost undetectable, a finger brushes the inside of her palm. She trails off in the middle of a sentence, closing the book and setting it aside. His name dances on her tongue, but she fears she’ll scare him away if she says it. Right as she’s about to speak, his eyes flutter open like those of a child awaking from a long nap. Her words fizzle into a tiny squeak as he searches her face, recognition shining in his eyes as he squeezes her hand. She falls into him, burying her face in his chest and letting herself cry. He wraps one arm around her, the movement stiff but there nevertheless, and traces tiny circles on her back, clumsy but well-meaning.

  
And all through his Noise is her name—a question, a declaration, a statement, a reminder. Erasing 1391 from her mind as though it was never there at all.  
A smile explodes across her face despite the tears as he leans down close to her ear and says it as though it’s the only thing that has ever or will ever matter to him.

  
_“Viola.”_

**Author's Note:**

> well uh. that happened. i had half a sentence for the beginning and the last line and this is what i ended up with. i'm not mad. anyway, i hope you enjoyed it!


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